Memories
by BlueStudMuffin
Summary: "Sometimes, when I think really hard, I feel like I'm missing something. I feel that it's big and important, but I don't know what it is. It's tickling the back of my mind, itching to be known, but I just don't have a clue. But that's not right.. I do know what it is-It's just that I don't remember it." A Drarry oneshot.


**A/N: **I had this idea when I was reading a manga. It was a really touching manga and I suddenly wanted to write something that's kind of sentimental. I'm not that good at writing fluffy romance, but this is my best shot. I did take many quotes from "The Warlock's Hairy Heart" from _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ by J.K. Rowling.

P.S. This, like all my stories in the past and in the future, are dedicated to DevientGrey.

P.P.S. This is a two-shot.

**Disclaimer:** All characters, settings, and quotes mentioned in this work of fiction belong to J.K. Rowling. Copyright infringement is never my intention.

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Sometimes, when I think really hard, I feel like I'm missing something. I feel that it's big and important, but I don't know what it is. It's tickling the back of my mind, itching to be known, but I just don't have a clue. That's not right. I _do_ know what it is. It's just that I _don't remember _it. Of course, I try my hardest to recall it. When I get near to finding out what it could possibly be, my head starts hurting a lot; however, it's my chest that feels the most painful. I suppose this could be called "heart-ache," but I don't exactly know what that is. If "heart-ache" is when your chest feel like it's closing in on itself while at the same time feeling like it's hollow and cracked, then I must be experiencing it. It's curious, really. How can I remember all the facts about my life, except for the most important part? Well, I have nothing to do but think and think and think so I should be patient. After all, my Healer says I am not ready to be discharged yet.

"Harry, are you alright? Is something hurting?"

Ah, that's Hermione. She's always worrying about me and I can't blame her. I've spent more time feeling like I've either been beaten to a pulp or something just as bad than feeling like I'm all pieced together and calm. Right now isn't bad though, and I tell her so.

"Are you sure, mate? Is there really nothing we can do?"

Ron was a worrier, too. Mainly because he's afraid I'd go under again and be in another coma. I know this because I heard him tell Hermione. It was a week after I'd woken up and I could barely remember anything, always staring off into space. I couldn't help _not_ zoning out. I mean, there was a whole load of _nothing_ in my head so I was bound to get distracted by it right? But, since he's asking if there was anything they can do, maybe they can help me remember this important thing I'm missing.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm afraid you'll have to find this memory on your own. I'm sure you can do it."

"Mum said that your dreams might help you so I suppose we'll get you a journal or something to write them all down."

"Anything that sparks a memory should be written down too. The object that sparks a memory should be key to piecing things together, right?"

I nodded, smiling. Ron and Hermione had always been there for me, and a person can't ask for better friends than them. I would have been completely lost if it weren't for their help or the fact that they have stayed with me for this long. I thank them for this.

"It's no problem, Harry. You've risked your life for both of us and helped us in a lot of ways so it's not problem to return the favor."

I wonder what I did to have such luck in this life. Then again, I have an equal share of bad luck, don't I? I mean, I've had to fight a war at seventeen, had life or death scenarios even earlier than that, and now I've got amnesia. Perhaps all the luck is to make up for all the bad things, is what Professor Dumbledore would have said right? Though I never had a clue about what the Professor thought..

"Harry, we've got to go. Visiting hours are over, but we'll visit you again tomorrow."

"We'll bring you a journal tomorrow, too."

Hermione reaches over and kisses my forehead. With the soft feeling of her lips, something in the back of my mind is tickled again. _Someone I cherished must have done the same to me, but who?_ I wonder about this as I wave at Hermione's and Ron's backs. They told me that I had dated Ron's sister but that it hadn't lasted long so could the memory have something to do with Ginny? No, impossible. This memory feels more recent, more fresh, definitely after I had dated Ginny. Who is this in my hidden memories?

"Good thing your friends left. It would have been awkward if I suddenly appeared."

I look up and it's my Healer. His eyes appraise me and my distracted expression, and he sighs. He does this a lot, but I don't understand why. Does he not like my friends? Does he even _know_ my friends? I'm distracted when he takes out his wand (for some reason, I knew it is his second wand) and taps different parts of my head softly while I wait patiently. He hums with satisfaction when he finds nothing wrong and I smile. I ask him how long it would be until I'm discharged and he quirks an eyebrow.

"Do you remember everything yet?"

I look down at my hands and I mumble my answer, which is that I only remember most but not all. I look up when I hear him chuckling without humor and he runs a hand through his hair. He sighs again and sits down on the seat that Hermione had occupied, staring at me while I stare back. He does this every day and, like all the times he does so, I feel warmth spread around my chest. I've wondered why I feel like this around him and I always come to the conclusion that it must only be because he is my Healer but I feel that this is unlikely. I feel.. Connected.. With him, somehow. I feel like I've known him before, yet not really known him at all. It's confusing and I always find myself frowning whenever I feel this way, but I've never found the right words to ask him. Somehow, I'm afraid of asking him because I know he would, somehow, be hurt. And yet, as my thoughts whirl around me, he continues to stare. His eyes are a really light grey color and they make me think that, if moonlight had a color, it would be this. His face is smooth and pale, his chin pointy, while his hair is pristine and immaculate. I always think that he must use a certain spell to keep it so organized but I'm always distracted by its white-blonde color. Again, I'm reminded of moonlight. He sighs again.

"How about I just read you this story then? It's not like we both have anything better to do."

He takes out a book from a pocket and I look at its worn cover. It's got a colorful illustration on the cover and I assume that it must be children's stories. He begins to read, glancing at me from time to time to make sure that I'm paying attention, and I settle back on my pillows. His voice is soothing to me and I let my eyes loose focus, ears only picking up on certain words, phrases, different passages.

" 'There was once a handsome, rich, and talented warlock, who observed that his friends grew foolish when they fell in love, gamboling and preening , losing their appetites and their dignity. The young warlock resolved never to fall prey to such weakness, and employed Dark Arts to ensure his immunity…' "

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_Suddenly, there's a figure in front of me but everything is foggy, blurry. A sneering laugh echoes around me and I'm irritated. I know that laugh and I never did like it, and I suddenly see Slytherin robes and a pale boy… A pale boy with a pointy face, white-blonde hair, and cold grey eyes. Is that my Healer? But what is he doing here?_

"_What, cat got your tongue Potter?"_

_That sneering laugh again, I hate it. It's cold and unfeeling. It doesn't reach his eyes and, to me, it screams of pretending and lying. But why am I so concerned with my healer? I must have known him before.. From Hogwarts.._

"_Are you too stupid to come up with a proper retort? Or do you need that filthy Mudblood to think for you?"_

_He's so hateful. How can he use that offending word? Yet, I can't really hate him because, again, the hate doesn't reach his eyes. _

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" '…The warlock's fancy remained untouched. Though many a maiden was intrigued by his haughty mien, and employed her most subtle arts to please him, none succeeded in touching his heart…' "

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_There is a ball and, though there were many pretty girls around me, my eyes were drawn to one couple: my Healer and some pug-faced girl. She clung to his arm and giggled, batting her eyelashes while she talked to him; however, his face remained disinterested and bored while still remaining polite. I could tell he couldn't care less for this ball and I silently agreed. I would rather be in the Gryffindor's common room than to be pretending amongst all these people that I am an amazing and confident wizard, which I'm sure he's also doing. I find my eyes following him and I'm amazed at his ability to hold such a straight face for such a long time. I wonder if he had been trained, then recall that he comes from a traditional pureblooded family and I assume that he had been. "How sad," is what I think._

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" 'In due course, the warlock's aged parents died. Their son did not mourn them; on the contrary, he considered himself blessed by their demise..' "

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_I'm in Diagon Alley and I see my Healer. He's walking out of a shop and I notice his posture isn't as straight anymore, his face is more relaxed, and the shadows underneath his eyes had disappeared. He looks like he's free and, as I stare at him, he glances my way and holds my gaze. Something is communicated there and I smile warmly at him and he provides a minuscule smirk before inclining his head to the right and continuing on his way. I followed him until we reached a small and discreet shop, buying food before sitting together in a booth near the back. I'm amazed by this sudden transformation and I find myself liking it as he got more and more easy-going. It's pleasant to be with him like this._

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" 'The maiden sat upon a throne beside the warlock, who spake low, employing words of tenderness he had stolen from the poets..' "

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_We're in the same small and discreet shop again, but I can tall that some time had already passed. We are sitting together, like last time, but we are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder this time. His expression is soft and he whispers sweet words in my ear, making me chuckle and grip his hand in mine tighter. We are happy, I can tell, and life in this small booth was precious while we bask in each other' s presences. No one else mattered but the two of us, alone._

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" 'The touch of her soft white arms, the sound of her breath in his ear, the scent of her heavy gold hair: All pierced the newly awakened heart..' "

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"_Scarhead, you should know that I have no clue about love and things like that."_

"_That's alright, Ferret, we can take it slow.. Let's start with not calling me scarhead."_

"_No, we should start with you not calling me ferret. You have no idea how scarring it was to have a crazy professor turn you into an animal."_

"_You were being a jerk so you deserved it."_

"…_No, he just had it out for me!"_

"_Don't be so overly melodramatic!"_

"_Oh, look who's finally learned some big words!"_

"_Oh shut up!"_

"_Hahahaha!"_

_This laugh was much better.. It touched his eyes this time and they're shining and soft. He wasn't haunted anymore, he's free, and I want to be the one he shares his freedom with. No matter what, it's both of us together._

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" '..The warlock cast aside his wand, and seized a silver dagger. Vowing never to be mastered by his own heart, he hacked it from his chest. For one moment, the warlock knelt triumphant, with a heart clutched in each hand; then he fell across the maiden's body, and died.' "

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"_That's a twisted story, Harry. Why read me that?"_

"_Because it reminds me of you. Well, the You that you used to be."_

"_How so?"_

"_You always closed yourself off. You always pretended and lied but I knew, deep down, you wished for something different. You could have had this earlier on, you know. You just didn't want to get hurt, huh?"_

"…_.Hey."_

"_Hm?"_

"_You might have some brains, after all. You didn't know me at all but, at the same time, you might be the one that knows me the best. How strange."_

"_That's why I like this story. It's dark, but it made me understand you more."_

"_You read some odd stories, Scarhead."_

"_What did I say about calling me that?"_

"_That you love it when I do."_

"_Then you should love me calling you Ferret."_

"_I was just joking.. You should call me something else."_

"_What should I call you then?"_

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I hear the book snap closed, but my mind is still swimming with the memories I'd forgotten and I feel my eyes sting a bit as I inhale deeply. I could finally reach the tickling part in the back of my mind and I smile a little bit. _Finally. _I close my eyes and breathe deeply once again before turning my eyes to my Healer, who is waiting for me patiently. His lips are curled into a slight smile but the expression in his eyes are smiling even wider. He chuckles at my suddenly grinning face and he leans close to me, his hand fidgeting near my waist like he's keeping himself from doing something. Finally, he opens his mouth.

"What should you call me then, Harry?"

"Draco," I reply. "My Draco."

"Always yours," he whispers before reaching for my waist and pressing his lips to mine.

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**A/N:** Do review. It would mean a whole load of a lot. If you don't, I'd have no way of knowing if I'm doing a good job at storytelling.


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